


Reunion

by NerdWhoSaysNi



Series: Marvel Oneshots [12]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pietro Maximoff Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 18:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16539752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdWhoSaysNi/pseuds/NerdWhoSaysNi
Summary: Pietro is reunited with his ex after a few years and a few too many drinks.





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a separate work before this that will never again see the light of day, but to fill in the necessary backstory for anyone who actually wants it:  
> Seraph is Loki's daughter and used to be friends with Pietro. They dated, then he found out another girl was pregnant with his son, Seraph ran away, then the other girl left him and took their son with her.  
> It's a wild time.

Pietro wasn’t pining. He refused to pine. He also refused to cry again. He felt like his little world was falling apart, and no glue was strong enough to put it back together. Rose had left a month ago, maybe a little more. He’d lost track of time in this fuzzy cycle of sleeping, eating, drinking, and staring at the wall, hoping something would happen to make things go back to being right. He had no idea that the next bomb to go off in his life would not blow things apart as much as it might blow them together.

He had taken to sitting at a little outdoor bar every Thursday night to listen to the live music. The bands ranged from blues-jazz to indie folk to European. This night happened to be pretty packed because a jazz band from Vienna was playing. As he sipped his drink and listened through the alcohol-induced buzz, he heard one sound begin to rise above the purring saxophone.

A laugh. A woman’s laugh. Like liquid moonlight, or mercury being passed hand to hand. Ethereal, dangerous, but irresistibly beautiful. And all too familiar.

The laugh was strange to him because he hadn’t heard it in at least two years, maybe more. But he knew that laugh. And he knew the face it accompanied. When he turned to see where she was sitting, Pietro couldn’t seem to find her. His eyes repeatedly scanned the crowd for a girl with long dark hair, pale skin, and probably a man on each arm and a line forming behind them. There was no such girl at the bar.

Deciding he could use the stretch, Pietro slid off his stool, drained the last of his drink, and began to wander around the little bar patio. A few women with long, dark hair made him take a second look, but none of them were her.

Two laps around the patio and he hadn’t seen her. Maybe the music and drinks and atmosphere were playing tricks on him. Giving up, he took a seat at his stool and watched the keyboardist do some fancy chord work as the bartender poured him a second drink. He would need this second one more than usual tonight; now, it wasn’t just his current thoughts haunting him, but his memories conjuring up some ghosts too.

Just as he finished the second, and just as the band finished their set, when Pietro had given up hope of seeing her, he heard that laugh again. It couldn’t be his imagination. He would just have to look again. This time, all he had to do was turn around. Not ten stools away, Pietro found Seraph with a glass of something clear raised to her lips.

He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t found her earlier. She looked so different now. She was still as tall and thin as he remembered, but perhaps softer at the edges, not quite all sharp elbows and lanky limbs anymore. Instead of dressing for attention like she used to, she looked comfortable in jeans, a mesh shirt, and a leather jacket. Even her boots were flat bottomed; no heels, no man-hunt. She was still quite pale, but her skin had a glow to it that told him she’d been spending plenty of days in the sun. A hefty smattering of freckles covered her nose and cheekbones, lending an unpolished touch to her pristine smile. Her long, dark hair had been cut to her shoulders and styled in bedhead fashion, very unkempt and characteristic of her. Her usual full face of makeup was missing, and instead, he could only discern the absolute minimum. Even her nails were bare, and she didn’t seem to be doted on by any man. She had changed so much in just a few years. No wonder he hadn’t found her earlier. He had been looking for a girl. Now, Seraph was grown and clearly a young woman in charge of herself.

If he had found her magnetic years ago, his attraction to her now was impossible to deny. He couldn’t stop himself from approaching and perching on the stool next to her. “Seraph?” he asked tentatively.

Her head snapped around and he noticed that both her ears were decorated with plenty of dainty piercings. “Pietro? How did you find me?”

“I heard you laughing,” he admitted. “It’s not the kind of sound I can forget.”

She dipped her head and let her hair hide her face--something she never would have done before. Shy Seraph had always been an act, a ruse to lure men into her clutches. But no one could fake a blush, and the pink in her cheeks was as genuine as he had ever seen.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

Her pink lips pulled into a semi-amused smile as she lifted her glass. “For a drink and some good music?”

“No, I mean, here, New York. The last I heard, you were staying with Erin in Melbourne. What happened?”

She tipped back the last of her drink and leaned on the counter. “I started in Melbourne, yeah, but I couldn’t stay long. Aunt Erin has never been one to stay in one place long so I started getting shuffled around. I spent the first few months in Melbourne being trained as a spy, but the only positions where spies were needed were Russia and the Arctic. I’ve never exactly been warm-blooded enough to spend lengths of time in the cold. So I became a journalist instead. Apparently, grifting is a big part of the game, and I’d mastered it. My boss let me go wherever I wanted. London, Barcelona, Cairo, Paris, Nice, Berlin. ‘You name it, you’ve got it,’ he’d tell me. I wasn’t supposed to be allowed vacations because I was so new, but whenever I wanted to get away, I’d ask for the Canary Islands or Costa Rica or something. It was...blissful. If SHIELD wanted to use me, they’d just call. Paris became my home, and I’ve got an apartment there with a friend. We take trips into London every chance we get. It’s perfect, all of it. A flawless escape from the mess I used to think was my home. I never realized how draining it all was, fighting to stay afloat. In Europe, I can just let myself be swept away.”

Pietro was stunned. She seemed so grown up now, so cultured, so world-wise. This was not the same person he had dated years ago. “But why are you here? Now?”

“SHIELD called.” She said it like it was the simplest of answers without being condescending.

“And SHIELD always gets what they want.”

Seraph nodded and tucked one side of hair behind her ear. Now, Pietro could take a closer look at the little earrings. A starburst with a pearl at the center, a feather, a tribal symbol, a constellation he didn’t recognize, and a simple ring with rounded edges. So streamlined and simple, so dainty, but also very representative of who she was and who she had become. There was a stillness in her now.

“I heard about you and Rosie,” she said at length. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We were never meant to be together, and we knew we’d never make a good match. We were too different. Arlo was the only thing keeping us together. Rosie finally had enough and left.”

“How are you?”

Pietro’s eyebrows rose. No one had asked him that since Rosie left. “Honestly, not as well as I had thought. Despite the circumstances, Arlo was still my son, and it hurts to know I won’t get to see him.”

Seraph placed her hand lightly on his wrist and rubbed her thumb across his skin comfortingly. “I’m so sorry.”

They continued to talk until the bar closed and the bartender kicked them out. As they strolled through the city, they watched the lights go on and off, cars rush by, people stumble home. All the time, their conversation never ceased. Occasionally, it lapsed into a comfortable silence, but it only stopped at dawn when they were both yawning and struggling to keep their eyes open. Seraph led him back to her SHIELD apartment where they crashed on her bed, cuddled up among the blankets.

When he opened his eyes around noon, Pietro found the bed empty. The smell of coffee filled the small loft, and he found a sticky note taped to the coffee pot. _Pietro, thank you for the talk last night. I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly, but SHIELD had to move me back to Europe. I’ll see you again. Until then, Raph._

\----------------------------------------------------

For the better part of a year, Pietro held onto that note as the one thing that kept him from convincing himself it had all been a drunken dream. Seraph. He always thought her name had been fitting, but now more than ever before, she had been an angel for one lonely night. She swept in and out without a sound, and now he was just holding onto the hope she had given him. He still hadn’t heard from Rose or Arlo, but the hole in his chest was slowly beginning to heal.

The day before Thanksgiving, Pietro accidentally sent the note through the laundry and found it a blank ball of softened paper disintegrating in his pants pocket. Mumbling, he got ready and headed to the kitchen to help Saph and Adam cook. As badly as he and Rose had ended, Saph never stopped loving him and treating him like he was her son-in-law. She really was Lady Liberty. He had visited the statue many times to reflect and get away, and every time, he found himself standing in front of the poem, memorizing the words. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these the homeless, the tempest-tossed to me.” There was no one in his life who better represented those words than Saph. Pietro was tired to his very soul; he was poor in spirit; he felt wretched and homeless; and in the past few years, he had certainly felt tossed and battered by the tempest of his own life. And through it all, Saph still loved him like her own. Sometimes, when he felt lonelier than ever, he’d remember the smallest acts of kindness she had shown him and have to hold back tears. No one was alone as long as Saph was alive. Something he was thankful for this year: Saph’s unconditional, unending, unbeatable love.

“Don’t just gawk, start chopping!” Saph laughed, pushing a bag of apples into his hands. “We need the whole bag for the pie, and another bag for the applesauce.”

And she also knew how best to distract him and keep him busy. God bless Saph. He rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and got to work. Just as he was finished with the apples, he was handed vegetables, and when he finished with the veggies, he was given potatoes. So it went for several hours. They were making a lot of food, but they would also be feeding a lot of people. When darkness had settled over the city and early evening had arrived, Adam popped the cork on a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass.

“Uncle Adam? Aunt Saph?” a voice called into the kitchen. It was followed by a face that made Pietro’s insides chill then boil.

Seraph peered around the corner, a brilliant and genuine smile lighting her face.

“Seraph!” Saph scooped her niece into her biggest hug and squeezed like every good aunt knows how to do. “You’re home! How did this happen? When did you get here? Where are you staying? For how long? How have you been, we haven’t seen you in ages! Does your mother know you’re here?”

Adam laughed and waited for his hug. “Sapphire, give the girl a minute to breathe. I’m sure she’s exhausted from travelling, and we can interrogate her tonight and tomorrow. For now, cherie, what can we get you?” He pulled back and held Raph at arms’ length. “A snack, a drink, a nap?”

Raph giggled and gave her uncle une bise on both cheeks. “Just a glass of red for me, please. My flight got delayed for three days, but I wanted to keep it a surprise,” she explained as Adam poured her a glass of wine. “Mum doesn’t know yet, but Devon gave me a ride from the airport, and nothing is a secret from Dad. I just saw Dean a few minutes ago.” She sipped from the glass and set it on the counter. “Mm, merci.”

Pietro had had moments of doubt that the girl at the bar had not been Seraph, but just his imagination. Now, he was certain it had been her. Her hair was still short, her ears were still pierced up, and he couldn’t tell if she was wearing makeup. Even her outfit was relaxed and demure. But however simple her appearance had become, her personality had become inversely as complex.

“Pietro, how are you?” She faced him and offered a tentative smile. In the warm light of the kitchen, he could see the hesitation and hope in her eyes.

“I’m better than when we spoke last,” he finally answered. With a quick glance at Saph and Adam, he picked up his glass of wine and asked, “May I speak with you alone?” When she nodded, he excused them from the kitchen and lead the way down an empty hallway. “You just...left. I appreciated the note, but you never said anything while we were talking.”

“Would you have done anything differently if I had?”

No. No, he would not have. Slowly, he shook his head. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Without thinking, he reached forward for her hand.

“Pietro, I have a boyfriend,” she said quietly. “And he’s here. For the holiday. I wanted you to meet him.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve been dating for a few years now.”

“Of course.”

“When I told you that I had an apartment in Paris with a friend, that’s what I was talking about. It’s a rather open relationship since we both travel plenty, but we are dating. We’ve been ar-”

They were interrupted by a young man with dirty blond hair and golden brown eyes, a thick but close-cut golden brown beard, and an even thicker French accent. “Ah, ca, and you must be Peter,” he said. “My name is Jules.” He extended a hand with a warm smile.

“This is Pietro,” Seraph corrected. “Pietro, this is my boyfriend, Jules Laflamme. His father Pierre was a friend of my mum’s that I stayed with for the first few weeks in Paris.”

Before Pietro could stammer a reply, they were interrupted again by Sam, Victoria, and AJ tackling Seraph and smothering her in hugs. He took the chance to slip away.

\------------------------------------------------

In the morning, Pietro woke up early and got to work cooking with Saph. Adam went in and out, keeping the kids occupied so they wouldn’t start picking at the food too soon. Around noon, everything was in the oven or cooling, and Pietro could go play with the kiddos and give Adam a break. As he was walking toward the living room, he heard voices arguing in the next hallway over and hesitated. One voice was male and hard to understand. A French accent. Not Adam. Seraph’s boyfriend then. The other voice had to be Raph.

She was talking. “I need someone who can be devoted to me. I understand that this has been working well for us, but I don’t want an open relationship any more. I don’t want to feel like I only get a piece of you. Or like you only want a piece of me. I need someone who wants all of me, always, all the time. Someone who isn’t afraid to commit to me and no one else. If you can’t do that, then I don’t see a future for us.”

He replied low enough so Pietro couldn’t distinguish any individual words.

“Okay, I agree. That’s probably for the best,” Seraph replied. “I’ll stay in Melbourne until the papers are up, then find another place. Please, let’s make it through today being civil. After today, after we’re not in New York, we can go our separate ways.”

Pietro felt a child’s hand slip into his and pull him away, but his thoughts stayed with Raph. When they all sat around the massive dining table that never got used for anything but Thanksgiving, he watched Jules help Raph into her chair and kiss the side of her head, playing the perfect boyfriend.

Captain Rogers said grace and began the circle of everyone saying what they were thankful for. When Pietro spoke, he talked about Saph and her love, and could have kept going if she hadn’t punched him in the arm so hard his hand went numb. “Stop making me cry!” she spat. Beside him, Wanda took her turn, and when they were all finished, the food started getting passed around. Pietro didn’t have a chance to talk with Seraph during the meal, but when the adults retired to the living room with a few bottles of wine and the kids were sent off to nap or play, he was able to sit beside her.

“Seraph,” he began, “I should tell you, earlier before dinner...”

He never got a chance to continue because Jules sat down and slipped his arm around her shoulders. Conversations flowed around the room until some of the adults began to leave. Captain Rogers, Bri and Adam, Hal and Loki, Vision and Wanda, Saph and Jace, Nat and Clint, Bucky, and some other guests and family trickled out. For some time now, Seraph, Shasta, and Jules had been in a deep conversation about their relationship and history and all the gooey sweetness that accompanied it. During this, Pietro had played something like seventeen rounds of Corridor with Leah, Devon, and Devon’s guest.

“If you would be so kind, I must excuse myself. I have to pack and catch a plane in the morning.” Jules stood and gave Seraph a last kiss on the forehead.

“Goodnight,” the girls replied.

“I don’t know when I’ll be up to the room. Don’t wait for me,” Raph told him.

Pietro waited. He waited for Jules to leave. He waited for Devon and his guest to leave. He waited for the rounds of seconds to go by. Even after that, he waited. At one point, Dean and Phillippe roped him into a game that took him away from the room for several hours, but still, he waited.

At last, around midnight, Pietro wandered down to the sitting room and found Seraph sitting in a mound of blankets, staring out the windows. “What are you still doing down here?” he asked.

She didn’t respond. She only offered him the place beside her. He sat beside her, blankets over their legs and packed around them like they were twelve again. “Raph?”

“Do you think people ever stop? Ever just pause to live and realize they’re living? Soon, it’ll be too late and we won’t be living any longer. We won’t have appreciated it. We just toil along and die. Is there a point to life? What if I don’t want to toil any longer? What if I just want to stare at the stars and just listen to music and watch the city turn and grow?”

Pietro reached for her hand and tried to catch her eyes. “Raph, are you okay?”

She laid her head on his shoulder and finally looked up at him. Her eyes were so clear and pale, bluer than any gemstone and any sky. “Get drunk with me?”

He laughed, about to make a comment about how she might already be drunk, but she held up a bottle of wine and he couldn’t resist. Together, they talked in vague philosophical metaphors and drank the entire bottle. As strong as the wine was, there was no alcohol in the world more intoxicating as her. By the time they were thoroughly drunk, he and Raph had become perhaps inappropriately touchy with one another. She was nearly in his lap, and his hand had slipped under her sweater and onto her warm skin. Now, his fingers were combing her hair and his lips moved against her forehead when he spoke. “I heard you and Jules break up earlier,” he said.

“Finally. I’ve been building the courage for weeks. He wanted an open relationship so he could experiment and so I wouldn’t feel guilty if I was required to go undercover. But I wanted commitment. I need someone with experience, someone who knows me, someone mature. I need something meaningful. I’m so sick of everything just being a game.”

He doodled sloppily on her side before she sat up. “Kiss me.”

“What?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

“I’m single. I’m drunk. Kiss me.”

Pietro didn’t have to be told again. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed their mouths together. They were messy, but they were meaningful. He needed her in his life now more than ever, and she kissed him back like she needed him too. After a minute, Pietro laid on his back and pulled Raph onto his chest. Their kisses continued well into dawn until they fell asleep, a tangle of limbs and blankets and emotions.

Still holding her against him when he woke up, Pietro gazed sleepily out over the city. His lips were chapped and he knew last night was no coincidence. “Stay here, with me,” he whispered. “Or don’t stay here, but stay with me. I’ll follow you wherever you need to go, just don’t tell me I can’t follow. I never want to lose you again.”

That Thanksgiving, when Pietro thought he would be at his lowest point, he counted two significant blessings in his life. One probably waking her kids like a drill sergeant, and the other soundly asleep in his arms. Pietro had never been more thankful.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

Thanksgiving wasn’t the last time Raph and Pietro saw one another, and it certainly wasn’t the last time they got touchy. Seraph continued to travel and explore, working for SHIELD and her day job, but every time she crossed paths with Pietro, they met up and spent the day together.

They began to rebuild their friendship as it had been when they were younger, when Seraph was still wild and when Pietro had fewer responsibilities. They fell into a mundane pattern of acceptable activities. During the day, they walked and explored, talking and occasionally seeing live bands. At night, they would find a small cafe for dinner and share a few drinks. But never in all their meetings did they talk about what happened after Thanksgiving.

Pietro began to wonder if it had really happened or if that kiss had only been a wine-induced fantasy. He never asked. Seraph didn’t remember it as well, just flashes here and sensations there, but she wasn’t sure if it was real or not either. She was too worried to ask.

What if it never happened? Would she be disappointed? Was it just a dream or a memory about their relationship from years ago? Did she want to kiss him again? What if it had happened? Was it a mistake? Did Pietro think it was a mistake?

She wanted to know the answers but she didn’t want to hear them.

A dull, cold day in April, Seraph found herself in the city again. She texted Pietro the address of a cute little restaurant and set up at a table to wait. With a large foamy coffee on her left and a notebook of scribbled observations and conversations on her right, she began to type her newest article. She had learned to love writing. It was an escape, a freedom, another world. There were times when she became so enthralled with writing that she lost track of everything around her. This morning, with pewter clouds suffocating the city, she found color and life in her work. Just as she began to sink into the letters and drown in the ink, the chair across from her scraped across the stone flooring.

“Good morning,” Pietro greeted.

Raph smiled and closed her laptop lid. “Hi.”

Had his eyes always been so warm? “You’re working early today,” he commented, pulling her notebook towards him and setting down his coffee. “What are you writing?”

“General interest piece. City differences. Comparison. The usual.”

They talked in that way for an hour before falling into silence over their empty mugs. Seraph’s eyes hovered just above her notebook but just below Pietro’s face. She was scared that if she met his eyes, she would blurt out something she would later regret.

Pietro refused to meet Seraph’s eyes too, instead gazing a few inches above her hastily pinned hair. He was worried that she could read his mind. He had never been a convincing liar, and she knew him too well. With those sharp eyes, she would pierce his soul and then all his questions would come leaking out.

Seraph finally packed her things back into her bag and stood. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she suggested. “Somewhere they won’t need the table.”

Pietro followed her out and down the street. They got jostled around at the corner before crossing the road and taking a few swift turns out of the busier avenues of the city. “I wanted to ask you,” she began when they could hear one another. “You remember Thanksgiving, yes? With Jules?”

“I remember,” Pietro replied, not looking at her. “You’ve gotten back together then?”

Raph couldn’t hold in her snort of laughter. “No, quite the opposite. He called me the other day as a courtesy. He apologized, wouldn’t you know.”

“Oh?” Now she had his attention. He glanced down but realized she wasn’t looking at him.

“Yeah. He said he was sorry for dating me at all. That it was to keep up appearances to keep his job. If they’d known he was gay, they’d have fired him, so he dated me and got his fun in secret. They finally fired him for being a lousy employee and he took the chance to propose to his favorite boyfriend.”

Pietro didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry....I think?”

Raph smiled at him and leaned into his arm. “It’s alright. I find it amusing. I used men for so long to get what I wanted, and I never even realized when I was in the same situation.”

They continued walking aimlessly until they reached a small park. Pietro sat on the bench and pulled Seraph down beside him. “May I ask you something?”

Raph nodded. “You sound serious. Is everything okay? Is it Arlo?”

“It’s not Arlo. It’s about Thanksgiving too, actually.”

Understanding settled on her face. “It did happen, didn’t it? I’m so sorry. I was drunk and stupid and confused and looking for answers. I never meant to compromise our friendship. Pietro, if there’s any way I can fix it, I-”

“Shhh,” he laughed, “it’s not something to apologize for. It’s okay, really. Yes, it happened, and I understand. I was grieving and confused and looking for answers too. But I’m not sorry.”

“No?”

Pietro rested his arm around her shoulders. “No.”

When they got bored of playing little games of people watching and city observation, they stood and stretched. “Lunch?” Pietro asked. “It’s getting kind of late. Did you need to be somewhere?”

Seraph shook her head. “Not until seven. My boss is having a dinner party. He’s reserved a room in this fancy restaurant and everyone on task in the city right now is expected to attend. But lunch sounds excellent.”

They explored side streets, searching for a place that looked clean and interesting until they found a food truck. Walking with their lunches, they headed towards a secluded square where musicians had a small set up and were playing.

“You’re not going to dance?” Pietro teased. “If I remember correctly, you love dancing in public.”

Raph shrugged. “I’m not such a fan of dancing alone anymore.” She balled up her trash and tossed it into a nearby can before linking her elbow through Pietro’s and staying close to his side as the crowd thickened.

When the musicians began to pack up and disperse, Pietro and Raph both tossed some spare bills into a cello case and followed the crowd back to the main street. “It’s almost six now,” Pietro said, “you should be getting ready for that dinner. I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”

Raph nodded and continued in silence, but when they reached her apartment door, she turned and faced Pietro. “Do you want to be my guest for tonight? At the dinner? The invitation said we could bring a plus one and I don’t want to go alone. They all knew Jules, and I don’t want to face endless questions about him and our split. Please?”

He had always been bad at telling her no.

\--------

Pietro met Seraph in the parking lot of a fancy restaurant and conference center and took her hand. “You look lovely,” he said, giving her a little twirl. Years ago, she would have found a barely appropriate, mildly provocative dress for any kind of occasion and paired it with sky high heels. Now, she had chosen a simple, red silk blouse tucked into a long vertically-striped straight skirt, a leather jacket, and heeled boots.

 

“You’re staring,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “Is there something on my face?”

“You’re not wearing makeup.”

“I am, just not nearly as much as I used to. I learned a lot in Paris. Like how to look like you just woke up and spent no time getting ready and still look acceptable in public.”

“I hope it was a valuable lesson?”

She smiled and he noticed the faint shimmer on her cheekbones. “Very. You’d be surprised how important it is to fit in in Paris. In interviews, no one would give me a serious answer if I looked American. I had to look the part for people to take me seriously. When they realized I meant business, they started to give me business.”

“You always have been smarter than you look. Although, now I guess you look smart too.”

They entered the conference building together and waited for a host to show them to the reserved room. With no one around, Seraph took the chance to look Pietro over. He was more than presentable. He’d gone back to the tower and changed into a plain dress shirt, simple tie, and dress slacks--not something he wore often.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly, catching her gaze.

“Your tie is crooked.” She tucked her wallet under her arm and straightened his tie. “Better.”

“Seraph Barton? If you would please,” the host said, stepping out of a doorway and leading them back through it and into a room with twenty or so other well-dressed people.

Pietro didn’t know anyone, so he awkwardly followed Raph around the room, shaking hands, learning names, answering questions. No one seemed to recognize him, and he was grateful. They sipped white wine and weak cocktails until it was announced that dinner would be beginning and would everyone find their seats. Pietro and Raph found their nametags at a round table with eight other people. Pietro knew the tall, aging man opposite him was Raph’s boss and the petite Indian woman at his 3 o’clock was the co-editor-in-chief. The conversation split in half. The half of the table where he sat began to discuss education systems and world differences, and he began to let the voices fade into one another until he heard his name.

“Pietro is from Sokovia, a small country in Eastern Europe. He and his sister experienced a unique education system while they were there.” Seraph’s voice cut into Pietro’s daze.

Around them, faces turned to hear him speak. “Um, yes, my sister and I grew up in Sokovia’s capital.”

He suddenly felt as though his shirt collar was too tight, but he resisted the urge to tug at it. Almost immediately, Seraph picked up on his discomfort and said, “What can you tell us about your primary schooling? Did it follow a particular format? Did you find any blind bias in the texts or curriculum that you learned more of as you grew older?”

With Seraph acting as the interviewer, it was much easier for Pietro to answer her questions and join the conversation with her coworkers. The meal came in courses that momentarily paused conversation, but talk never ceased. By the time dessert was served, Pietro felt comfortable talking with the people around him. When the food was finished, some guests left, but Seraph stayed longer. The wine never stopped, and soon, the talk became louder and less professional.

With their tongues loosened by alcohol, perhaps the coworkers finally had the nerve to ask what Pietro assumed they’d been wondering the whole night.

“So what happened to your boyfriend?” the Indian editor asked. “Jules, was it? That nice French boy.”

Seraph’s smile wavered. “We decided to split. The break was clean and mutual, and we’re still on speaking terms. It just wasn’t going where either of us wanted.”

“And this intelligent gentleman is your new boyfriend? A relative?” She gestured an age-curved hand in Pietro’s direction.

“A longtime friend.”

Seraph dodged with grace any other questions tossed her way about her current relationship. Finally, when it was time to leave, Pietro walked her back to her apartment. “I’m a longtime friend, hm?” he said.

“You are.”

“What else? You have a talent with words. I’d like to hear a few.”

“You’re my confidant, my oasis, my peace. My hiding place. My eye of the storm. My favorite book and favorite song. My escape. My wilderness and home. My trouvaille. My conscience. My best friend.” They stood now at her door, her keys hanging in the lock and the light from the stairs diffusing into the first room. Taking his hand, she lead him in after her and closed the door with her foot. “My sunshine on foggy days.” She flicked on the light. “My favorite dance partner.” She smiled and took his other hand. “My trust fall and cushion. My ocean waves and cricket songs.”

As she spoke, Pietro felt something tug in his chest. The wine had definitely fuzzed with his thinking, but he was noticing details he had missed earlier. Like the way every swish of her hair sent a waft of perfume in his direction. Like the slit in her skirt rising to reveal just a slim flash of her leg when she moved.

“Humidity on skin in summer. The first few snowflakes on my tongue.” She was still going. She released his hands to push the jacket off her shoulders and hang it on a chair. “The creak of a book binding. The smell of ink.”

His eyes traced the way the thin straps of her blouse and the yellow light from the ceiling fixture highlighted her collarbones and shoulder blades. He noticed for the first time the plunging neckline and outline of her sternum under her skin. As she moved, his eyes caught a glimpse of black ink on her ribs. Which was softer, the silk, or her skin? An itching in his palms made him want to find out.

“Soft blankets and warm pillows.” She could go on forever, listing her favorite things and equating them to how she felt when she was with him. She removed her shoes and stood toe to toe with him. “You are my favorite voice in the morning and at noon and in the evening. My favorite eyes to get lost in. My favorite smile to share.” His warm hands closed on her waist and held her close. “My voice of reason. My hope. My confidence.” Their eyes had found one another and nothing in the city could separate them. “My favorite memories and best regrets. My favorite dreams on lonely nights.” Something magnetic was drawing them towards each other, their faces nearing. “My favorite hello. My warmest hug. My hardest goodbye.” She could almost feel his heart beating, and she was sure he could feel hers. It was hammering in her chest as their lips stopped mere centimeters apart. “And I only wish...I could call you mine.”

Seraph wasn’t sure who kissed who, but it was a kiss that sucked all the air out of her lungs and filled her with ecstasy. She was in love with words, but no combination of words in any language could describe the swelling of her soul in that moment. The ameliorative effect on her mind was enough to convince her she could fly. At least, she could if Pietro wasn’t holding her so close.

Pietro wasn’t sure either who started that kiss, but he sure wasn’t going to be the one to end it. Instead of just holding her waist, he wrapped an arm around her and pressed her into him, his other hand pushing hair away from their battling mouths. He felt like a starving man at last seated at a banquet. He felt that he could never have enough of her, never hold her close enough.

She wasn’t surprised when she felt the wall press against her back and push her further into Pietro’s chest. His kisses were ravenous, and she knew she wasn’t being gentle either. Gasping, they finally broke apart when they absolutely had no choice but to stop and breathe.

While her fingers worked to loosen and undo his tie, Pietro peppered kisses down the side of her neck and over her collarbone to her shoulder. Seraph didn’t hesitate to pull him back into a kiss as soon as his tie fell to the floor. Even though they had spent many total hours in similar positions before, it was obvious they were rusty. Teeth bumped, tongues got in the way, hands and hair were getting tangled. After painfully knocking noses a third time, Pietro pulled back. One of them was going to go away with a black eye if they didn’t collect themselves.

Pushing on his shoulder until it was Pietro with his back against the wall, Seraph switched their positions and began leaving her mark on him. Her lips found his pulse and began a slow descent to the collar of his shirt. Her fingers opened the top button, then the second, then the third, her kisses following.

As she left bruises and bitemarks on him, his fingers pressed into her skin until he was worried he’d hurt her. Instead, he spun her around and began trailing hot, uncontrolled kisses down her spine. When he reached the low back of her shirt, he turned her to face him again and lifted her up so her legs wrapped around his hips before putting her back against the wall again. He began at the plunging neckline of her top and kissed up her sternum to the hollow of her throat.

Seraph knew she was losing control. The nagging voice in the back of her head saying they needed to stop had long fallen silent. Her body was reacting without her permission, her back arching into him and her lungs fighting for air. When he lifted her, she tangled her fingers in his curls and closed her eyes to focus on his hot breath on her skin. Without realizing it, her hands slowly tightened their grip in his hair. His lips brushed along her skin, pushing the strap of her top down her arm before he sank his teeth into her shoulder. A pleased moan left her mouth as she tugged at his hair. Amused, Pietro laughed and looked up at her. “I knew you used to like it rough, but I’d forgotten just how rough.”

For a moment, they stared, their chests heaving and minds racing. “We’re doing this?” Seraph asked.

“Do you want to do this?”

“God, yes.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

\------

The morning sunlight shed through the blinds on the discarded pile of their clothes on the living room floor. The tie lay in the hallway, still partially knotted. At the end of the hallway, the door to the bedroom was still ajar, letting cold air mingle with the smell of warm skin and sleepy breaths. Seraph and Pietro were tangled together in bedsheets and limp embraces, skin on skin. When Pietro woke up, he stretched and nuzzled his face into Seraph’s hair. “Mmm?” she hummed. Rubbing her eyes, she rolled over to face him and traced a single finger down the various marks on his neck. “Ooh,” she hissed a breath through her teeth in a sleepy cringe, “did I do that?”

Pietro couldn’t be fooled by the innocent look she gave him. He knew that she looked like an angel, but that was only to hide the irresistible devil on the inside. “If you check my back, you might find the prints of your fingernails too.”

“Oh, but who’s fault is that?”

Pietro laughed. “I guess it’s mine.” He turned her on her back and kissed her sweetly.

“Mine.” Seraph kissed him back and ran her fingers through his hair. “Of the thousands of words I could use to describe you, most of all, I wish I could call you mine.”


End file.
